


The Temple

by TerminallyCapricious



Series: Grimmons [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Closet Sex, Cunnilingus, M/M, Squirting, Trans Dick Simmons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 07:33:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17361695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerminallyCapricious/pseuds/TerminallyCapricious
Summary: Another temple of procreation fic because I love that trope. Also Simmons squirts in this one.





	The Temple

**Author's Note:**

> heyyy uhh i wrote this solely because i want dick simmons to squirt!!! 
> 
> takes place in the same universe as Dick Simmons and his Magical Vibrating Robo-Arm but you dont have to read that (tl;dr: simmons' robo arm can vibrate and he uses it to masturbate lmao)
> 
> pls excuse spelling mistakes its like 3am im sure ill catch them tomorrow and be v embarrassed thanks again i love you
> 
> oh yeah also CW for feminised terms for simmons' junk (pussy, etc)

Simmons pushed himself up from where he’d been reclined on the shitty carpet of the common area of the run-down base they’d been crashing in on Chorus. He dug the heels of his hands into his weary eyes and rubbed until he could see stars. The long-term tension was just beginning to unwind from within his gut, though his head was beginning to feel kind of hazy. He was keen to get off-planet and rest in the new bases Kimball was building for them on the moon. 

 

Simmons cracked his neck in a loud way which made Donut glare at him from where the pink soldier sat in an old, uncomfortable chair. Simmons rolled his eyes, it’s not his fault if Donut still hated that particular habit even after their 10 years of fighting together. 

 

He laid back down on the floor and turned his attention back to the old earth movie that was being projected onto the peeling paint of a wall. 

 

He heard Grif rise from one of the few chairs in the room mumbling something about needing more popcorn. Simmons did what he does best, some quick maths in his head, trying to figure out how the small handful of people in the room had gone through that much popcorn that quickly. It was just Sarge, Grif, Donut, and Simmons himself, and Sarge didn’t even seem to be eating with his whole depressive episode over not dying heroically while capturing Hargrove. Simmons let out a quiet sigh and chastised himself- never be surprised if food goes missing quickly when Grif is around.

 

Sensing an opportunity to stretch his legs- and also make sure that the popcorn prep mess gets cleaned up- Simmons pushed himself onto his feet and followed Grif a few doors down the hallway to the kitchen. 

 

Neither of them said anything for a moment as Grif pried open a few popcorn bags and put them all in the microwave at once. Simmons stretched his arms above his head and flexed his back muscles, stretching side to side to ease the aches that he got for sitting on the floor for so long.

 

“Some celebration, huh.” Grif spoke as he punched the cook time into the microwave and turned to lean back on the counter. “We deserve better than cheap popcorn and an ancient movie we’ve seen five hundred times. Fuck, we busted our asses out here.”

 

Simmons crossed his arms but couldn’t argue. As far as he knew, everyone else was celebrating in a similar manner throughout the base, though he hadn’t seen Tucker around since yesterday.

 

“It’ll get better when we’re on the moon.” Simmons was looking forward to living in nicer quarters for once. “We deserve a break.”   
  
“I didn’t know you knew how to take breaks.”

 

Simmons rolled his eyes. “I’m not Carolina.”

 

“Fuck, yeah, she’s going to be a pain in our asses isn’t she?” Grif leaned a little to make sure she wasn’t standing out in the hallway where she could hear him. “Maybe I should teach her how to cut loose.”

 

Simmons snorted, “That sounds like too much work for you.”

 

“You’re right, especially during our break.”

 

Simmons didn’t have much to say to that and stared down at the spotted linoleum floor beneath his feet. He was in his civilian clothes and so he stared absentmindedly at the scuff on one of his standard-issue trainers.

 

He recalled their latest fight, recalled being trapped in Hargrove’s trophy room, under attack. Simmons heard the microwave beep and watched as Grif readied a large enough bowl for all the popcorn he’s prepared. Simmons remembered watching Grif get strangled.

 

Simmons shook his fuzzy head, he could use a break.

 

Grif pushed past him with his warm, buttery prize now in hand, and headed back to the common area. Simmons let out a silent sigh as he observed the unsurprising mess that Grif left on the counter. 

 

“It’s not even fucking hard.” He grumbled to himself, neatly folding the discarded packets and putting them in the trash. He pushed the cupboard door closed and gestured incredulously to no-one. “Would that have killed you, Grif?”

 

Simmons rubbed his human hand over his tired eyes and was surprised when he felt how warm his cheeks had grown. He frowned to himself and didn’t return to the common area, instead crossing to the other side of the base to his sleeping quarters.

 

His mental itinerary:

  * Have a drink from the glass of water beside your bed- it’s reasonably fresh, but you’ll need to refill it if Kimball still isn’t ready for you to leave by tonight
  * Triple check that all of your personal items are gathered together- your toothbrush is still by the sink
  * Lie down and rest your eyes- try to clear this haze from your mind
  * Jack off?



 

Simmons considered the last point thoughtfully.

 

He felt a tempting, pleasant tingling warmth in his crotch that didn’t seem particularly out of place in a moment of down-time, and it had been a while since he’d last relieved himself. Simmons had had 10 years of practice with his robot arm, with the vibration feature specifically, and knew that he could pretty definitely relieve himself quickly and quietly, drawing no attention.

 

Arriving at his temporary room, Simmons chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully as he shut the door behind himself. He crossed the room and took a long drink of water, surprised to feel the harsh fabric of his polo shirt rub against his- apparently hard- nipples. He sat himself down on the side of his bed, which gave an unhappy creak, and stuck his hand into his trousers with little fanfare.

 

His eyebrows raised as he found himself already starting to slick up in his boxer briefs. The light contact from his soft human fingers drove the warmth within him into an immediate ache. Simmons bit his lip and frowned, startled. This was new, and rather unexpected.

 

He pulled his human hand from his pants and replaced it with his robot hand, slapping his human hand over the cooling vent so that the metal would begin to vibrate against his most delicate parts. The ache in his crotch was spreading upwards into his lower gut, and Simmons felt...  _ hungry. _ He pulled in a sharp breath between his teeth as the ache continued to intensify, coiling every muscle in his body and  _ screaming _ to him that his hand was  _ not _ sufficient.

 

He pulled his hand out from between his legs and attempted to catch his breath, but the ache was turning to a fire in his belly which burned with an intensity that startled him. His muscles would not unwind, his heartbeat would not slow, and his pussy would not stop  _ throbbing _ with need.

 

Simmons pushed himself up off his bed with no mind to the complaining squeak of the mattress and paced out the door. 

 

He ran a hand through his short, light hair as he took the hallways with big strides of his long legs.  _ Something is wrong, something is wrong. _ His brain was chanting at him, even though he let out an involuntary whimper when he felt himself clench down on the emptiness inside him.  _ Doctor Grey, Doctor Grey _ . His mind supplied a new, more helpful chant as Simmons resolved to make his way to the med bay- he definitely needed medical attention, because something was  _ wrong _ and, oh-

 

Simmons drew in a surprised gasp as he came face to face with an equally surprised Grif who had just rounded the corner. 

 

The gasp allowed him to inhale a deep breath of Grif’s scent and, to Simmons’ eternal confusion, he immediately felt his heart rate begin to lower and the muscles in his shoulders relax enough to let them sag back down to their normal position.

 

Simmons was unsure what to say to the slightly shorter man standing in front of him, too far into his personal space, so he stood there was his lips slightly parted and allowed his breathing to slow in Grif’s presence.

 

“It was Tucker.” Was all Grif offered, as though his meaning was obvious.

 

“What?” Simmons was astounded by his own eloquence.

 

“He uh,” Grif looked like he was trying to avert his gaze awkwardly, but was having trouble pulling his eyes off of Simmons’ flushed face. Simmons noticed for the first time just how pink Grif’s tanned cheeks were. “Activated that temple you know the damn, um, the sex one.”

 

Simmons’ eyes widened a good deal as the understanding struck him. “The temple of procreation?”

 

“Yeah, that one.” Grif finally managed to look away from Simmons and was instead staring intently at the door to his side, fidgeting and trying to distract himself from the awkwardness of the encounter. 

 

Neither of them was particularly sure how long the silence lasted as they stood there, stewing in the implications of this situation.

 

It was Grif who broke the silence, the normal level of sarcastic pep returning to his voice, though Simmons could tell that it was forced. “So! I should uh leave you to your…. business.” 

 

The shorter man moved to duck around Simmons but was stopped before he could make it too far. Simmons looked down in confusion as he recognised it was his own hand which was holding Grif back, locked around Grif’s wrist. Deep brown eyes looked up into Simmons’ own and he licked his dry lips nervously. The ache in his core had come back since Grif had put a little more distance between them.

 

Grif echoed the motion and licked his own lips, peering at Simmons with a look that the taller man could only describe as calculating.

 

Grif stepped closer, softening the edges on the desperate need that pulled at Simmons’ gut. From the way Grif’s frown relaxed a little, Simmons could guess that the other’s own discomfort was also retreating in their proximity.

 

Simmons tilted his head down ever so slightly and breathed in deep, the smell of Grif’s hair- surprisingly clean, recently washed- filled him and warmed him. It wasn’t like the eager burning from before, it was less pressing, more comforting, but it still felt like a call to  _ action. _

 

Grif, however, was the one to act first. He leaned his head up, threaded a tentative hand into Simmons’ hair, and pressed their lips together firmly.

 

Simmons’ eyebrows shot straight up to his hairline, but his eyes fluttered shut and he found himself pushing back into the kiss, unsure. It had been a long time since he’d kissed anybody, and he probably wasn’t very good at it back then either.

 

Grif didn’t seem to notice- or mind- as he wrapped his other hand around Simmons’ back, pulling their bodies flush together, their kiss still surprisingly chaste. 

 

Simmons shifted lightly and could feel the firm press of-  _ something- _ against his upper leg. He squirmed again and let out a small sound, his lips parting just barely. 

 

It was as though the noise had broken the floodgates within Grif. He manoeuvred Simmons back against the door beside them, using the hand he had on the small of the taller man’s back to lever him forward, grinding their whole bodies together rhythmically. When Simmons let out a second sound, this one much closer to a needy whimper, Grif took the opportunity and dove into his mouth, his tongue firmly stroking his lips, running over his teeth, massaging and sucking on the maroon soldier’s tongue in a way that made him go weak. They exchanged heavy breaths which melded into grunts and moans that conveyed shock just as much as they conveyed relief.

 

When Grif felt that Simmons’ knees would buckle at any second, he pulled back and panted against the taller man’s mouth, “My room or yours?”

 

Grif could see the lag in Simmons’ eyes as it took longer than it should have for the words to register. When he finally understood, he just reached behind him and clicked open the door he was pressed against. The two of them stumbled inside with less grace than they’d prefer, and took a moment to assess the room. A supply closet; small, but workable. Grif nodded, still breathless, and shut the door behind them, once again crowding into Simmons’ personal space.

 

“We should…” Simmons could feel himself panting, felt like his breath would never slow down, like it was being driven by his pure  _ need _ instead of exertion. “We should talk about this”

 

“Yeah” Grif agreed, though he instead wrapped Simmons back into an embrace, palming the taller man’s cheek with a broad hand and guiding him back into a deep kiss.

 

Simmons could feel the wheels trying to turn in his head, trying to form a coherent thought, any coherent thought. But the way Grif was kissing him was hot and it was messy and it was  _ filthy _ , he could feel the heat between his legs pulse with need at every rapid beat of his heart. Their tongues were rubbing together, their teeth clashing as their elevated hormone levels drove them to devour each other.

 

Grif pulled back to rip his own tshirt off over his head. They both stood there for a quick moment, watching each other release heavy breaths through ruddy, abused lips, neither of them bothering to shut their mouth totally.

 

“You really want this?” Simmons asked, and Grif could see his addled mind trying to turn over the possible dubious aspects of consent in this conversation.

 

“Yeah.” Is all Grif says. He felt like he should say more, like an emotionally healthy person might say more, like a person who wasn’t thinking with their dick might say more. But it seemed to be enough for Simmons, and Grif suddenly found two pale hands threaded into his hair and two chapped lips pressed against his once more.

 

Grif let his hands slide up the back of Simmons’ shirt, holding the thin man against his body with a firm hand on his hot, bare skin.

 

The shorter man noted that Simmons seemed to keep his eyes firmly closed for the entire time that they kissed, though this surprised him so little that he didn’t even think to take it personally. Simmons is absolutely the type to keep his eyes shut during makeouts.

 

He could feel the lean muscles in Simmons’ back tense under his hand as his other one moved to hike up the bottom of the taller man’s shirt. Grif had bunked with Simmons for a long time, had seen him shirtless, had seen his top scars, but this was totally different. 

 

Griff pulled back from their kiss once more and felt his gaze intensify as he locked eyes with a severely unfocused Simmons. They breathed a few breaths into each other’s mouths, Grif’s stare unrelenting, before Simmons pulled his own shirt up over his head. The taller man bit his lip- an action that Grif couldn’t look away from- and undid his fly for good measure.

 

Instead of diving back into the kiss, Grif moved to mouth at Simmons’ neck, seeking out all of the most sensitive spots with just his lips and his teeth. Simmons didn’t seem to mind this at all, letting out a high whine from the back of his throat, particularly as Grif’s hands came to rest on his hips, his warm thumbs tucking just barely under the waistband of his boxer briefs and rubbing softly.

 

He felt Simmons’ hands come to rest over his own and the taller man pushed both his pants and his underclothes to the floor in one motion. Grif pulled back from his work, enjoying the harsh mottling of bruises around Simmons’ pale neck that stood out like jewellery. He stared down between them for a moment, taking in as much of the sight of Simmons as he could without jeopardising their very close proximity.

 

Simmons caught Grif licking his lips wetly, could practically see the shorter man’s mouth watering as he took on a look in his eyes that Simmons had only ever seen directed at food.

 

“Sit down.” Grif panted out the words in a surprisingly authoritative manner that had Simmons rushing to comply, sitting back on a large wooden crate.

 

Grif pushed Simmons’ legs apart as he knelt between them, the intense, hungry look never once wavering, even as his eyes flitted between Simmons’ face and the wet heat between his legs. 

 

Grif dove in with little fanfare, though Simmons could tell he was trying to tease a little. Grif’s lips pressed big, messy kisses to the crease where Simmons’ legs stopped, licked big, eager stripes up along his outside lips; although the motions were sloppy and erratic, Simmons could imagine they were indicative of a greater skill that had been overwhelmed by need. Or he would think that, had his whole being not been so absorbed by devolving into a shaking mess under Grif’s ministrations.

 

Grif’s mouth pulled back and Simmons couldn’t stop the whine in his throat, but he watched questioningly as the man before him hurriedly licked both of his thumbs. The wide digits immediately returned to Simmons’ heat, massaging along his outer lips in a way that drove heat straight to his core. His head was thrown back but he could feel the intensity of Grif’s gaze focused on his pussy where it sat before him like a four course meal. Simmons felt himself clench at the thought and felt more moisture dribble out of him.

 

Grif groaned loudly at the sight and it seemed that his patience had been shattered. He pounced back onto Simmons with his mouth, licking and sucking with abandon now, no particular rhythm or technique to be found, like he was trying to eat a peach that was just too messy. 

 

Simmons was panting like he was running a marathon and one of his hands came to tangle itself in Grif’s hair desperately. With every breath the taller man released an increasingly desperate moan as he crumbled under the eager ministrations of the man between his legs. Simmons felt as Grif raised a hand up to stroke along the soaking part between his lips, Grif’s tongue now totally distracted by laving giant, firm strokes against Simmons’ clit. Thick fingers rubbed against his lips, and Simmons was shaking once again, unable to stop the harsh tremors running down his legs.

 

He could see Grif smirk against his heat as he felt the taller man’s legs begin to shake on either side of him, though he didn’t even have a moment to feel indignant before a thick finger slid into him, its motion made beyond easy by the truly excessive wetness. 

 

Grif eased another finger in, searching for the spot inside Simmons. His tongue didn’t slow throughout this process, continuing to shower affection over Simmons’ clit, motions unlike anything he’d ever seen outside of particularly gratuitous porn. When the fingers found the spot inside him, Simmons felt every muscle in his body tense. If the previous stimulation had been a steady fire building up in his belly, this sensation was a freight train rocketing him towards his completion. That was a mixed metaphor, but Simmons didn’t care.

 

Simmons’ whole body was shaking now, his legs trembling so hard he knew they would hurt tomorrow. Garbled nonsense would not stop leaving his mouth as his hand tugged harder and harder at the hair in his grip. He watched as Grif dug the heel of his hand into his crotch, grinding up against it, though not at all distracted from his more important ministrations.

 

“Guh” Was all Simmons could manage out between his moans. He took a deep breath and tried again. “Grif.”

 

The shorter man peered up from between Simmons’ legs, and Simmons noticed for the first time how positively  _ ruined _ Grif looked. His entire face was flushed- probably with both exertion and arousal- his hair was tousled, and he panted out muffled moans in time with the needy grind of his own hand against the bulge in his pants. Overall, he looked absolutely debauched. 

 

Simmons maintained eye contact with Grif for as long as he could, until he could feel himself just barely hanging onto the edge. He couldn’t help it when he threw his head back and screwed his eyes shut, moaning sounds that were almost Grif’s name, crashing headfirst into his peak.

 

Simmons felt the muscles in his whole body seize up, his legs already aching on either side of Grif. He felt his pelvis tense and relax and, to his horror, he felt wetness absolutely gush out of him in time with the intense waves that washed over him. 

 

He came down from his high gasping for breath- though he hadn’t even noticed he’d stopped breathing- every muscle within him had turned to jelly and he willed his eyes to focus on the sight before him so that he could assess the damage.

 

Grif sat back on his knees, panting hard against Simmons’ inner thigh, his eyes as wide as dinner plates as they locked with Simmons’. His hair was wet, his face was absolutely drenched, and Simmons could see where the wetness had dripped down to soak into the collar of his tshirt. Simmons had squirted onto Grif’s face. And Grif looked like he’d seen god.

 

Grif licked his lips and seemed surprised- and amazed- when they were still soaked with the taste of Simmons, and it only took a moment longer before he also screwed his eyes shut and finished against his own hands with a long, loud, low moan.

 

Grif panted and kept his eyes closed for a moment while the aftershocks of his orgasm finished washing over him. As his breath came back to him, he cracked his eyes open once more to see Simmons looking more sheepish than the shorter man had ever seen him look.

 

Grif’s mouth cracked into a wide grin, satisfied when that relaxed Simmons’ anxious posture some. 

 

“Fuck,” Was all Grif said, the grin never leaving his face.

 

He stood up between Simmons’ legs and pulled his shirt off over his head. Simmons watched, blushing hard, as Grif used the fabric to wipe the dampness from his face.

 

“Yeah.” Simmons offered back, finally recovering the energy to sit upright again.

 

Once again they knew that they should talk about this, that that’s what healthy people would do. But Grif was still obsessing over the feeling of Simmons cumming all over his face, and Simmons figured they’d have enough time for that once they were taking their break on the moon base. 

 

And so Grif helped Simmons stand, helped him gather his clothes from around the room; Grif himself had remained clothed except for the- now ruined- shirt that he just kept in his hand.

 

Grif turned to Simmons once more and gave him another kiss, the first one they’d shared that hadn’t been sloppy with desperation. It was surprisingly chaste, Simmons noted, warm and dry as their lips stayed closed but pressed firmly together, dragging alongside each other slowly, all need to rush had passed.

 

When they pulled back, Simmons was somehow blushing harder than he had all day, and he searched Grif’s eyes for any indication as to what the shorter man was thinking. All Grif offered him was a broad smile as he leaned around Simmons to open the door.

 

The door didn’t open under his ministrations and all he got for his efforts was the stubborn click of a locked handle.

**Author's Note:**

> i would,,, love to write a sequel to this where grif actually gets his dick out at some point, so keep an eye out for that i guess
> 
> im also like super into sarge/donut for some reason and i have conveniently established here that theyre hanging out when the activation happens soooooo keep an eye out for that also I GUESS


End file.
